Fire and Blood (Dragons of Galicia Book 3)

by Simone Pond

  She meandered over to the seating area by the fireplace with caution. A white box with a red ribbon sat on the table. She picked it up and untied the ribbon, then slowly lifted the lid. Inside was perched her diamond wedding ring—the one she’d given Declan in exchange for killing the prince. She dropped the box. The ring was encrusted with dried blood—most likely Declan’s.

  21

  Evelyn didn’t understand why the spear had ignored her request to go back for Clovis and her father. She was angry.

  “You just allowed two legends to burn to death in that pasture!” she cried out as the spear flew over the treetops.

  It was pointless yelling at the spear and she knew it, but she continued berating it anyway as they traveled north. Off in the distance, Verubri Castle loomed. The spear must’ve been taking her to Clovis’s men. How was she supposed to tell them that their leader just died in a field of fire?

  The spear lowered her down into the trees and onto a trail. Irritated with the spear, she commanded it back into its crystal stone form and shoved it into her pocket. She stalked north. Tears blurred her vision as she imagined her father dying in such a horrific manner. With every thought of her father perishing, her focus sharpened and her stride hastened; she would get to Verubri and kill the prince. Then she’d blow up the entire Vindius mountain range if that was what it would take to annihilate the entire dragon clan.

  “Halt!” A hulking man brandishing a spear stepped onto the trail.

  She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I’m Evelyn of Gorias, dragon slayer.”

  The man stepped forward, aiming the sharp point at her chest. “Do you speak lies?”

  She removed the stone from her pocket and the spear of Gorias illuminated. “No.”

  He fumbled backwards, holding up his hands. “Ah, we’re on the same side, dragon slayer. I’m Maedoc, dragon warrior. Sent by Clovis to slaughter Verubri’s army.”

  Evelyn lowered her spear and relaxed. “Good to meet you, Maedoc. Can you take me to your camp? I need to speak with your chief.”

  He bowed his head and gestured for her to follow him into the trees.

  “Where’s Clovis?” Maedoc asked.

  The men weren’t going to be pleased with the news about their leader. “I’d prefer talking to your chief,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Okay.”

  They hiked a good thirty minutes in the deep woods before they finally reached the camp. Men sat around fire pits recounting battle stories.

  “They’re celebrating,” Maedoc explained as they walked across the camp toward a tent.

  “But it’s not over yet.”

  “If we can’t celebrate the small victories, what’s the point?” He smiled, showing off his gold teeth.

  They entered a large tent and as soon as she stepped inside, Evelyn almost gagged reflexively. It reeked of fermented mead, sweat, and a stench Evelyn’s nose couldn’t peg. On the floor was a well-built, naked man utterly passed out and on his back in a bed made of leaves. Thanks be to Galicia his manhood had been covered up by a garment of some sort. His snores rumbled through the tent.

  Maedoc grinned and shrugged again, then walked over to the snoring behemoth. “Cynwrig.” With his muddy boot, Maedoc nudged one of the man’s hairy legs. “Cynwrig. Wake up. You got a visitor.”

  Cynwrig let out a thunderous snore and rolled over so his hairy rump faced Evelyn. A muffled squeal came up from somewhere. Suddenly Cynwrig was rolling off the makeshift bed. A young lady with long ginger hair shoved him off of her.

  “I can’t breathe, you brute!” she shouted in a shrill voice.

  Cynwrig shot up to his feet, reflexively grabbing his javelin and holding it at the ready. The garment that was previously covering his manhood fell to the floor. He stood before Evelyn and Maedoc completely naked. Evelyn turned away.

  “What is this?” Cynwrig growled like a bear.

  Maedoc told the chief, “The dragon slayer has arrived. This is Evelyn of Gorias.”

  “Turn around, girl, let me see your face,” ordered Cynwrig.

  “Can you please cover yourself first?” asked Evelyn.

  The tent was silent for a moment. Then a burst of laughter rolled from Cynwrig. “Wait outside for me.”

  Maedoc and Evelyn stepped out of the tent. She was grateful for the fresh air, though it was several degrees below livable. They walked over to one of the fire pits and stood. One of the dragon warrior wives or slaves or whatever they were rushed over with a cup of steaming liquid.

  “Cider,” she said, bowing.

  Evelyn thanked her and took the cup. She sipped the hot cider, letting it warm her up a bit. Finally, Cynwrig emerged from his tent and approached the fire pit. He wore leather trousers and a coat of bear fur.

  “Dragon slayer,” said Cynwrig.

  “Chief,” she replied.

  “Where is our leader?” He didn’t mince words.

  Evelyn took in a deep breath and exhaled, watching the vapor of her breath merge with the smoke of the fire. She then told Cynwrig about the dragon attack and what happened to Clovis and her father.

  “… They died bravely,” she finished. She used all of her strength to hold back the sob fighting to come out. There would be no crying in the presence of these dragon warriors.

  Cynwrig called over the ginger-haired lady who’d been in his tent.

  “My lord,” she said.

  “Get us drink. And plenty of it.” Then he turned to the camp and looked at the men. “We will keep this between us for now. No need to piss on our men’s fire. We still have one more battle.”

  Evelyn nodded in agreement.

  “To my tent,” he said.

  Maedoc—bless his dragon warrior heart—said, “How about my tent, Chief? It’s not as … messy.”

  Cynwrig let out another bellow of laughter and slapped his arm around Evelyn’s shoulders. The two walked across camp to Maedoc’s tent, which indeed did have a more tolerable odor. They discussed tactics as well as many other topics as the cups of mead continued to be drunk throughout the evening and into the night. Evelyn couldn’t keep her vision focused. Like Big Red had told her at the lodge, she couldn’t handle her spirits.

  Cynwrig finally stood up and yanked his ginger-haired woman to his side. “You must sleep, dragon slayer. And I must release some grief.”

  He departed. Evelyn lay back on the ground, the tent spinning in circles. She let out a sob for her father, then passed out.

  The next day, Evelyn awoke to the sound of men cheering. Her head was pounding and her mouth felt like it had grown a coat of fur inside it. She called for Maedoc, who arrived with a cup of spring water and a roasted leg of some woodland creature. She didn’t care what it was and gobbled it up. She gulped back the water and waited a moment for everything to settle.

  “What’s going on out there?” she finally asked.

  “Clovis and Lugh of Gorias have arrived.”

  She paused a moment to make certain that she had heard correctly, then checked to make sure that she wasn’t dreaming. She then jumped to her feet, grabbing onto Maedoc’s arm to keep from falling back down. “Arrived? How?”

  “Doran of Navia …”

  In a flash, Evelyn was out of the tent and sprinting to the large gathering of huddled warriors. She snaked her way through the crowd and on one side of the fire pit, proudly recounting the tale of his daughter slaying the dragon, stood her father. He finished the story, then caught her eye and smiled. The warriors cheered. On the other side of the fire pit, Clovis was kneeling with Cynwrig and drawing in the dirt, obviously war planning.

  “They’re alive,” Evelyn whispered. “Praise be to the heavens.”

  “And here I thought I’d already seen you at your worst … But this, my lady, wins first prize.”

  Evelyn jerked around to face a smiling Doran. She hugged him then smothered her face against his chest.

  “I’m sorry for leaving without you. I didn’t mean to demoralize you. I on
ly wanted …”

  He patted her disheveled copper mane. “Shh. I know.”

  She stepped back. “How’d you find Clovis and my father?”

  “It wasn’t too hard to follow the trail of fire in the sky …” He winked and pulled her back into an embrace. “Congratulations on your second dragon killing.”

  Evelyn bowed. “I’m legitimate now.”

  “Don’t get too cocky, my lady. You still have one last task.”

  She laughed. “Oh, don’t you fret, good sir. I’m looking forward to it.”

  22

  Ciara stared at the box on the floor. The wedding ring had fallen out and the diamond glinted in the firelight. She needed to get out of the castle immediately. Forget about securing her position in the kingdom; her life—and the life of her unborn child—were at stake. She picked up the ring and slipped it into her pocket, then grabbed the white ceramic vase from the table and dumped the roses to the floor. She called for her chambermaid and made her way over to the door and waited.

  Ciara pressed up against the wall behind the door. The pounding in her heart became so intense, she worried about the baby. Her ribs seemed to be shrinking in around her. Why was Clarice taking so long? Was she spying for Prince Kieran? Probably … maybe … who knew? No time to discuss it with the infernal chambermaid. Perspiration dripped down Ciara’s temples. Her hands grew damp and she rubbed them on her dress—a dress that wouldn’t be warm enough for the icy temperatures outside. She hadn’t planned this very well.

  From the hallway came the sound of keys jingling. Ciara pulled in a breath and hoisted the vase above her head. The door to her room opened and Clarice stepped inside. Ciara kicked the door shut and brought the ceramic vase down on top of Clarice’s head. The woman let out a gasp, then crumpled to the floor. Ciara snatched the keys from Clarice’s loose grip and shoved her out of the way. She creaked open the bedroom door and peeped into the hallway. It was clear. Stepping out of her room, she pulled the door shut behind her and locked it.

  Was Olen still hiding out in the castle somewhere? She had no way of knowing and didn’t want to risk getting caught trying to find him if he was. She wished that they’d devised a backup plan with a place to meet if anything went wrong. But she’d been so hell-bent on taking over Verubri that her priorities had been all wrong. She had no backup plan because she had considered nothing else besides complete conquest on her part acceptable. What a fool she had been. Everything she’d been doing was wrong, and now the little life inside her might suffer because of it. Tears streaked her face as she tiptoed down the hallway to the grand staircase.

  Ciara reached the landing and heard a clamor down below. Someone was shouting and another person whimpering. She pressed against the wall and peered around the corner to the floor below.

  Two watchmen were shoving the chained and blindfolded king across the foyer and to the front doors. Another watchman had the queen flung over his shoulder. Her cries sounded like a baby bird.

  “Unhand me, you fools!” shouted the king.

  “We’re under strict orders from Prince Kieran, sir.”

  “But I’m the king of Verubri! You must do as I command!”

  The men ignored the rambling king and continued through the entrance of the castle. A blast of icy wind swept in as the watchmen opened the door and removed the prince’s royal parents from the castle. Ciara knew where they were being taken. The prince needed another dragon.

  She stood pressed against the wall. Her breaths hadn’t slowed down and neither had her heartbeat. She waited until the watchmen were long gone before she stepped away from her hiding place. She headed toward the grand staircase. It was so close … the stairs … her freedom …

  From seemingly nowhere, Prince Kieran stepped into the hallway, his brown hair shaggy and his eyes wild. The golden flecks had taken over and it looked like sparks were flying from his eyes. “Where are you going?”

  Ciara’s heart squeezed tight and she dropped to her knees. Pain shot up through her abdomen. Contractions. But it was too early … Warm water spilled down her legs. Early or not, the baby was coming. She released a howl that carried through the castle. The pain was so agonizing it nearly blinded her.

  The prince was by her side, shouting, “Maids! Come now, Lady Ciara has fallen!”

  Ciara lay back on the rug and closed her eyes, trying to wish away the wrenching pain twisting in her belly.

  She cried out, “I’m so sorry … I’m sorry … for everything.”

  The prince thought she was referring to him, but Ciara was looking over her entire life and the machinations she’d concocted over the years to benefit only herself. None of her malicious plotting had ended up yielding anything she truly desired. In a stark moment of clarity, she grasped what she truly wanted, and it wasn’t power. It was love. She longed to share love with her baby. If she lived through the birth, she vowed to her unborn daughter that she would be a far better mother than her own.

  Maids rushed up to the second floor. They wiped Ciara down with hot rags. One of the maids cut off Ciara’s dress.

  “Your majesty,” said one of the women. “It’s best if you leave for now. We will call you when the child has been delivered.”

  “Will the child be okay? It’s too early. My son …”

  Ciara thought about the prince’s reaction when he realized the child in her was no heir to his throne. She wanted to protect her baby, but she was helpless. The contractions grew closer together and Ciara’s cries continued. The pain was beyond her imagination and she began slipping in and out of consciousness. Finally, after one last push and nerve-splitting, fire-like pain that tore through her body, she heard her baby crying. She tried to see, but blackness enveloped her.

  ***

  Ciara gasped for air and shot up, awake.

  “No … no … please …”

  Her eyes adjusted to the shadowy room and she knew immediately where she had been taken. Her worn body had been tossed onto the bed inside the prince’s torture chamber. A few candles burned, making her silhouette dance on the wall of chains, whips, and metal contraptions. Her stomach twisted and she vomited over the side of the bed.

  “I have to get out of here … I have to find my daughter.”

  Ciara crawled out of bed clad only in a long red robe. The maids had cleaned her up, but every part of her body was tender and raw. She shuffled inch by inch to the secret door to the hidden passageway that led to the prince’s chambers. She opened the door and slipped into the dark tunnel.

  Walking so soon after giving birth made every step feel like a knife stabbing into her stomach. She pushed through the pain and negotiated her way through the tight passageway to the other door. When she finally reached the door, she pressed her ear against it and listened for any signs of life.

  A thick silence blanketed Ciara and though her heart was beating fast, she felt a peace she’d never felt before. She was going to get out of this mess. And then she’d right every single wrong.

  From behind, a door clicked open. The prince must’ve figured out she had used the passage. She fumbled with the door knob and scrambled into the prince’s chambers. The moon was full and bright, giving her enough light to navigate her way to the main door and into the hallway.

  She ran down the long corridor, blood dripping down her legs and leaving a trail. By the time she reached the second-floor landing, dizziness had taken over.

  “Keep going …” she panted. “Just get to the maids … to the baby …”

  She ran toward the grand staircase, but stopped in her tracks. Somewhere her baby was crying.

  “Where are you?” she yelled out.

  The crying got louder. She followed the wails to the top of the staircase and looked down to the main floor. Her body iced over. Prince Kieran stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding her baby. He grinned. Fiery sparks shot from his spinning eyes. “Time to awaken them all!” He turned and stalked to the front entrance.

  “No!” Ciara’s s
creams pierced through the stark castle. “You can’t take her!”

  She ran for the staircase. Halfway down, she lost her footing and tripped. The railing was just out of reach and she teetered and flailed. Unable to regain balance, she tumbled backward, all the way to the bottom.

  23

  Clovis and his tribe of dragon warriors marched north. The men had relished the details of Evelyn’s tale, and they officially pronounced her a legend. Her father beamed, carrying himself with pride. Evelyn felt pretty good about the whole thing, mostly because her father and Clovis hadn’t perished.

  “I rode right through the flames to rescue your dad and Clovis,” Doran had explained. “It was as though there was a cloak of protection around me—then them—the whole time.”

  Evelyn wondered if it was the spear that had shielded them. She’d never know since it would never tell.

  The radiant full moon hung in the star-ridden black sky when they reached the outskirts of Verubri Castle. The air was bitter cold and the visible breath of hundreds of warriors and horses charged the air. An icy blast of wind—as though emanating from the castle—cut through Evelyn. She gripped her spear and exhaled, sending her symbolic response to the prince.

  Per Clovis’s instructions, Cynwrig and Maedoc split off, taking a contingent of men east of the castle. Evelyn, Lugh, and Doran remained with Clovis and his group.

  “Ready?” Doran asked.

  Evelyn nodded as the spear lit up in her hand. An energy buzzed and fueled her. She grinned. “I will slay him just as I did his dragons.”

  Clovis gathered the men into a large circle. “We will head directly to the castle,” he shouted. “Do not stop for anything. We will take down every remaining loyal knight of Verubri tonight!”

  The men roared and sang out battle cries.

  Clovis motioned for Evelyn and Lugh to join him. They rode over and positioned themselves next to the legendary dragon warrior.